The Moonlight's Children
by Phantom Night Owl
Summary: A plush night sky. A Ferris wheel and the woman of his dreams. Oh, and a kiss. All right, so he had to kidnap her to get it. No one's perfect. Fluff. Soft and...well...fluffy.
1. Chapter 1

_For Gaby as promised. I hope it_ _pleases_ _._

* * *

It had already been two years as colleagues, morphing gradually into friends at the prestigious Ravenwood School of Fine Arts.

He was painfully aware of her from the start, and remembered clearly what she was wearing the day they met, (a navy and white belted dress paired with sensible navy pumps) as if it was yesterday.

She was slender and fine boned with a coloring of peach-gold, her skin glowing with health. Her small head was capped by dark blonde hair scraped into a no-nonsense bun, her mouth wearing a polite smile which ultimately failed to hide the look of perpetual harassment. (the standard look of college professors everywhere) She observed the world from wide-set eyes of the purist blue framed by a slim pair of black glasses. He mused that the professor could be stubborn at times. She had a very determined looking chin.

But for her eyes, some may have called her a bit plain. He would not be one of them.

When she was introduced at their first faculty meeting, she had regarded him in a fairly typical manner.

For a typical man.

Of which he was not.

His gaunt frame could definitely be classified as stringy- taller and thinner than anyone else he was privileged to know. (or not) Nothing much to look at, unless one enjoyed a masculine physique of skin and bones, topped with black hair which was not thick _or_ lustrous. Thin and lank would more easily describe what sat on his head.

She was politely cordial as they were introduced, only a slight widening of the eyes giving her away at the presence of the unorthodox mask he wore. This peculiarity was paired with oddly colored eyes and the very direct way they observed her from his imposing height. He had hesitantly grasped her hand, mindful of how cold and dry his always were, and pumped hers once lightly, before letting go. He waited for her to mumble a few platitudes, much like his colleagues did before moving on to someone more prepossessing.

And friendlier.

To his great surprise, she did not.

She had carried on a conversation with him, apparently in no great hurry to move on to anyone else. Their talk at first was slightly awkward, and he was surprised yet again when it became stimulating, even amusing as they balanced coffee cups in one hand and small china plates of petite fours in the other. He'd had no intention of eating the sickly sweet pastry, but held the pink confections, ready to offer her more. She seemed to enjoy them.

He stood there, stiffly at first, as she questioned him on his time spent as conductor at several world class concert halls, his professorship in music theory, and his Ph.D and D.M.A. in music and music education. He found himself reluctantly (at first), quizzing her on her previous position as theatre director at the Kauffman Center for the Performing Arts, her new classes, and MFA degree in theatre and B. A. in theatre management. They would be thrown together often, collaborating on the shows the school performed throughout the year.

Christine Daae.

The woman he loved more than life itself.

"Erik? Hey, doc! You sleeping with your eyes open again?" she said laughing, and threw a balled up cocktail napkin at him.

He came back from his recollections with a jolt. "No, I was merely recalling our first meeting."

Christine held up her glass for a toast. "Yes. Two years ago I met the most remarkable man," she announced with a wicked gleam in her eye.

He sat up straighter, touching his glass to hers, secretly joyful that she found him remarkable in any way other than remarkably ugly. "He sounds like a paragon."

"Oh, yes. He is that. Professor Khan rings my chimes."

His disappointment had him tightening already thin lips, when she gave a soft chuckle.

"I meant _you_ , Erik! The only man I know that can speak so sweetly through a musical instrument or wax philosophical on nearly any subject... including my own," she said dryly, and took a sip of her Cabernet. Christine glanced around the restaurant. "I invite my friend and colleague out for wine and a steak dinner at a posh restaurant, and he proceeds to ignore me for a trip down memory lane!"

Erik studied her briefly before dropping his eyes. "I am not ignoring you," his unsettled glance shifting to the room at large.

Christine caught his look. "I feel like an idiot, my friend," her manner contrite. "I was told they had cozy candlelit booths, not tiny tables squished so tightly together the couple next to us could eat off our plates," and she stared unabashedly at them as they in turn covertly eyed her dinner companion.

His gaze came back to rest on her again. "You have done nothing wrong except listen to information that was obviously incorrect. You meant well and I appreciate that, but I have never been fond of dining in public. It is too much like feeding time at the zoo."

She glanced quickly around the room and had to agree with him as curious eyes cut away from their table and Erik, suddenly finding interest in their own dinners. She had hoped that this restaurant which was touted to have intimate seating, would be much easier for him to adjust to.

How wrong she had been.

She had asked him about his aversion to dining out not long after they met. "Why, Erik? You work in a college, for God's sake! You're surrounded by people. You stand in front of them nearly every single day. Their _eyes_ on you every day. What makes it different with a knife and fork in your hand?"

He said nothing for a moment, having realized long ago that his affliction was easier to endure from the outside in. Actually _living_ in his body was where the true fun began. "It's the weight of their stares and my inability to do anything about it- simply sit still and endure it, while they no doubt wonder why I was let inside in the first place," he said finally. "You have noticed, I'm sure, that the mask does not make eating as easy for me as it is for everyone else. I must remain in my seat and do nothing while they drag their curious eyes over what is seated in their midst. I suppose growing up surrounded by curious and spiteful children led me to detest curious and spiteful adults. I was a ward of the court at one time, Christine," he explained, never finding _her_ curiosity distasteful. "I was remanded to an orphanage when I was nine years old after my mother was run over by a speeding drunk. As you well know, the words _speeding_ and _drunk_ have the capacity to change lives- or end them."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry," her brow wrinkling in a frown. "Your dad. Where was he in all of this?"

He shook his head. "I never knew him, but I'm sure he knew me, and that is why he took off. However, this is all ancient history. I was simply pointing out that some things never truly go away, but mealtimes three times a day for five years of bullying and name calling, tends to stick with you. Especially when the harassment became physical. I simply walked out one day and never looked back. I decided fending for myself was called for, and so I did." He stared at her...stared _through_ her as he remembered his younger self scrabbling to stay alive.

"I scrounged for food just like the rest of the dark underbelly of any city does, and since I very rarely had any money, I stole what I needed. Living on the streets is not recommended, especially if one looks, er... _different._ There were two rival gangs operating in the neighborhood I called home... neither of which would have me, until one night I ended up in the emergency room after a vicious beating by a few members of one of the gangs. That's where I met and was treated by a young resident physician named Francis Maier, who turned out to be a godsend. He took me in and gave me a home and education, but more importantly, I was able to receive further instruction on the piano. My mother had taught me from the age of four, Christine. She would have me sit on a pile of books just so I could reach the keys," his voice soft with remembrance. "She kept us fed and a roof over our heads by giving piano lessons to those, children mostly, with no aptitude for it."

"Even at your young age, she must have noticed some well-spring of natural talent for music," Christine replied, observing his skeletal fingers which produced the most delicious sounds from nearly any musical instrument she could name. "You have genius coded into your DNA, my friend."

"Not that one can tell at first glance, eh, Christine?" hazarding another look around the room. "I believe Francis at first, saw me as an anomaly to pick apart and perhaps study, but it was my good fortune that he discovered that I was smarter than I looked. He was, however, a compassionate man- his curiosity gradually turned to affection. It was the only time that a sound thrashing proved to be beneficial.

"Forgive me- I seem to have strayed far from the point, haven't I? But eating in a restaurant still remains something I don't care for- it isn't the same as spending my days doing what I love, in the school where I have been, more or less accepted by my peers. I am a singular person, Christine, a misanthrope, if you will, but there's purpose when I teach- imparting to gifted students my knowledge and love of music. They need me to show them the intricacy and beauty inherent in every timbre, every dynamic- the very texture of every piece ever written by the masters. The fire that burns even as it soothes. They lose themselves in the pursuit of _my_ dream, making it theirs and forgetting after a time that the man standing before them is simply a caricature of one."

Now looking at the other diners, she felt badly that she had forgotten his aversion to dining out. "I see you as a man, Erik, and my friend. None better, really. Even though you've been known to bite the heads off your fellow teachers from time to time," she teased.

He snorted in contempt. "Only when they deserve it." He looked up and sighed as he observed the heads ducking back to their plates. "Have you ever gone to a zoo at feeding time, Christine? Ever notice the crowds lining up to watch the spectacle of animals enjoying their meal? Their inquisitiveness and amusement? You never once looked at me like that, but I have seen it in others."

She heard the lingering hurt in his tone, which she would bet her new Cole Haan peep toes, that he didn't even realize was still there. "When I was little, we had a neighbor who was severely burned in a house fire. His face looked melted like...like candle wax, the lid of one eye pulled down in a disturbing way. One side of his mouth was stretched in a...a kind of permanent sneer, and because of it, he hid from everyone, not caring for the way they looked at him. I tried very hard to be different and not stare... be a little friendlier." Christine glanced up at him, struggling to justify her own culpability, "but it didn't always work. It wasn't just his face... his hands...his hands were affected too, with... with ridges of scar tissue. The eye is drawn to the atypical, Erik. As cold-hearted as it may sound, it's what makes humans...tick. I-I was scared of his face, to be honest. He was nice though, and I would sometimes go over and sit on his back porch with him."

"You didn't consider him a monstrosity by then?" the sneer in his voice barely concealed.

"I never considered him a monstrosity!" she returned heatedly. "Sometimes you are too quick to tar all of us with the same brush, and I don't deserve that from you," but she was mollified when he murmured an apology. "It was frightening to look at him, I will admit, his features pulled and stretched into something nature never intended," she dropped her eyes from another one of nature's extraordinary exceptions to the norm, sitting across from her, "but I would think... what if it was me? What if I had been disfigured like that? Or my parents? So I went over when I heard him out on the porch- alone, he was always alone, and we... would talk. For some time I never looked any higher than his chin. Afraid to. But gradually that changed, and after a while... a very long while, it was just his face."

"You are indeed one of a kind," and this time the sneer was completely absent.

She shrugged. "Not really. I gave him and myself a chance to adjust. That's all. And it was worth it."

Christine reached a hand out to his where it lay on the white tablecloth. Erik's fingers were elongated past what was normally pleasing, appearing bloodless and fragile, but she knew that to be a false assumption, for his hands were two of the most talented she had ever seen, the perfect tools for a pianist of great caliber. She had asked him once why he wasn't in a concert hall somewhere performing the music of Debussy or Berlioz... his own even, instead of teaching it.

"I can do more with my students' minds, instilling a love and dedication to music that I could never do in a music hall."

"Of course you can, professor," she had answered quietly. "You have a gift and wish to share it."

She now gave his hand an affectionate squeeze, glancing once more at the surrounding diners, feeling like the lowest of friends. She had accepted Erik and the mask a long time ago; one could be as blank as the other, but once she got past his formidable defenses, there lived inside the damaged outer shell, a sensitive soul who only needed encouragement to open up a little. Others hadn't had the privilege, or simply never cared to find out for themselves.

"I'm only sorry that I put you through this. It was thoughtless of me, and you should have declined the invitation."

"I truly appreciate the offer, as it came from you, but sly glances and whispers never stimulate my appetite. I normally eat in a more private setting, as you well know."

"I do," she said quietly, mindful of their shared lunches in one or the others' offices- the relaxed and friendly meals in their homes, "and for my blatant disregard of that fact, allow me to give them a taste of their own medicine," and Christine proceeded to stare hard at the couple next to them, who were trying not to be noticed in their covert study of the man seated across from her.

Hastily they looked away, and she grinned in triumph. "See? They don't like having the same thing done to them, do they?" and she signaled to their waiter.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking my friend somewhere else to eat. How does scrambled eggs at my place sound?" as she glared one last time at the entire room.

"I have always enjoyed your scrambled eggs," his eyes burning like embers as he admired her obvious need to be his defender.

He didn't want her to defend him.

He wanted more than that.

So much more.

* * *

They strolled leisurely up her sidewalk, Christine's hand tucked companionably into the crook of his arm. The brief shower they'd had and the ragged edges of clouds, had given way to a clearer and cooler evening. The night air smelled wonderfully fresh and invigorating. It carried the scent of lilacs from somewhere, and she recalled the fragrant purple blooms Erik had presented her with from bushes in his backyard.

"It's lovely tonight, isn't it?" Christine observed.

"Yes, it is. I enjoy the nighttime. Its quiet and depth suit me much more than the sun ever did."

She squeezed his thin arm affectionately. "That's because you are a child of the darkness, professor."

"And I suppose that makes you a child of the light?" looking quizzically at her.

Christine fished out her keys and unlocked the door to her neat little house. "Mm, I wouldn't say that exactly, but more sun than moon. Hungry?"

 _For you, yes._ "May I take a rain check on that?"

"I was to feed you, remember?" she protested, her mouth tilting up in a smile. "Unless of course, eggs just don't suit after I promised you steak."

He scoffed at that. "When have you ever known me to get excited over food?"

"Oh, I don't know. You seemed rather fond of my lemon tarts."

"Because you forced that second helping on me, Christine. But I really don't require you to, as you state it, _feed_ me. I am quite capable of ingesting food on my own, and have done so for years."

"My, but aren't you the haughty one!" she laughed, inured to his predilection to jump on his high horse every so often. "Sure you can. but I don't mind fixing us something to eat, doc. It's the least I can do." She threw up a hand when he opened his mouth. "I heard you. Another time then," masking her disappointment and forcing a smile.

He had decided to cry off dinner, It was one thing to be in a restaurant with her, surrounded by people. Or in a school setting. Quite another to be alone with Christine, when lately, he simply longed to pull her close and worship her with his mouth, caress her smooth skin with his hands. Brand her as his very own.

Anymore, desire for her had a way of inserting itself into every nook and cranny of his life. It festered there, at times making it hard to breathe.

"Yes, another time. I really need to let you get some rest. After all, the school's most important donor is coming to see us tomorrow. You will want to be your very best."

"And you won't, Erik?" she teased.

"Why, my dear. I thought you knew!" He held his arms out from his sides for her inspection. "This is as good as it gets!"

She raised up on her toes and pecked the very edge of his jaw. "And I like it mighty fine."

The brush of her lips was a benediction to his touch deprived skin. "And you, my lady, are beyond silly," Erik declared lightly, even as he breathed a little faster. He stared into those eyes that reminded him of polished lapis lazuli. His mouth opened without his permission. "Christine...I would just like to say... I want you...to...to..."

He snapped his lips shut before they made a fool out of him, deathly afraid to continue and ruin the dream he had nursed for so long. For if nothing was denied, there was always hope.

"What, Erik?" she asked softly, a hint of something else in her gaze that confounded him for a moment.

So warm and tender. That look she had given him. He shook his head. No. It was the look a woman might give to her, say... dear friend. No more than that.

"Nothing," he said finally. Wistfully. "Nothing at all."

Her eyes remained steady on his, a slight frown marring her forehead, showing something other than contentment. "Well, good night then," and slipped inside her door, closing it quietly.

Erik turned and walked back to his car. He didn't know _when_ he began to love her, for it seemed to be there from the very beginning. She had been kind to him...drawing him out of his self-imposed armor, if only a little. They had much in common. Both bookish, giving themselves over to their pursuit of knowledge instead of to another. He'd had no choice in the matter- resigned to spending his life alone, but he was quite sure there had been a significant other in her life at one point. How could there not be?

Christine was beautiful and vibrant, and for a woman of thirty-four, would have had relationships, even if nothing had come of them. As for Erik, the only liaisons he'd had by the age of thirty-six, were those where money changed hands out of a desperation to feel the touch and scent of a woman. But that very desperation had left him feeling even worse, like a beggar at the feet of normalcy, asking to be let in and experience what other men took as their just due. Why would he want some woman to pretend (and badly at that), that she loved him in an act that was bought and paid for by him?

He ended up hating himself for being weak and pathetic, and hadn't bothered with that sort of thing in a handful of years. Now, having a good time was spending it with Christine, preparing a simple meal at each others' residences over the weekend, or lively talk over a shared bottle of wine. Often they would spend a Saturday night on the couch in his study in front of a freshly kindled fire, each doing some essay grading work, and occasionally having a spirited discussion on whatever subjects took their fancy. And she was often there when he would find himself sliding into melancholia, affectionately teasing him out of it.

And of course he would be stealing glances at Christine's face, and when she caught him staring, he was glad for the light of warmth and friendship freely given and meant only for him. Although at some point, he would become restless, thoughts cartwheeling full tilt in his head, wondering what her lips would feel like against his, how pliant would her slim body be in his arms.

What she would feel like beneath him.

Just as he had felt tonight.

He quickly put a halt to his ludicrous notions. What he had was more than good enough.

Christine was his friend.

At least he had that.

* * *

The Persian caught up with Erik's long-legged stride as he hurried to his classroom. "Afraid they'll begin without you?" he puffed, out of breath. He needed to take up tennis again, and cut back on that one extra dessert here and there.

Nadir Khan was a strapping six footer, dark of complexion, with startling green eyes in his swarthy face. In direct contrast to his exotic looks, he wore, of all things, a pair of wrinkled khaki pants, well worn L.L Bean hiking boots, topped with a St. Louis Cardinals tee shirt, all barely pulled together with a brown sports coat.

"This class?" Erik's voice climbing in astonishment. "I think half of them wandered in off the street with no particular subject in mind, least of all anything with a melody line." He glanced down at Khan, who had taught philosophy at Ravenwood for fifteen years to Erik's twelve.

"A little overdressed today, aren't we?" critically eying the older man's laid back ensemble. "You traded your ten year old running shoes for ten year old boots. Very nice."

Nadir tipped a small packet of peanuts up to his mouth and emptied half the bag, chewing enthusiastically. "Yes, and they're comfortable as well. But tell me, Erik- overdressed compared to whom?" taking in his friend's usual uniform of black flannel trousers, gray shirt, black vest and tie, and black fitted jacket. _Oh. Must not forget th_ _ose_ _shiny black Nunn Bush shoes._ "You are always dressed like you are waiting for a funeral to break out somewhere."

"Shouldn't _you_ be somewhere other than here?"

"Where? I only came in to collect some paperwork from my office. I have a chimp covering my classes for today so I might spend the afternoon in my quarters with not one, but _two_ buxom ladies of my acquaintance."

"Oh? Not your usual orgy then?"

"I gave those up. I get much too light-headed with any number over two," he said sadly.

"A shame, Khan," in a bored tone which implied the opposite.

"Are you ready for the drinks and drivel after last class?"

The other man snorted. "Am I ever? I have nothing in common with small talk and toadying, as you well know."

"Yes, I am more than aware of that. You give a whole new meaning to _small_ talk. Some of the faculty count themselves lucky most days to get a whole sentence out of you." They were nearly to Erik's classroom. "How is the lovely Ms. Daae? I noticed you are still taking separate vacations every year, _and_ at the same time," Nadir scratched his head, "although I should say, you take yours whenever she does."

"And you are well aware of where I go every year."

"Is she?"

"She visits her family and I visit mine. I ask Christine how her visit home went, and she inquires nicely of Erik's. That's all there is to it, Khan."

Is she still putting up with you as often as three times a week?"

"She enjoys my cooking and witty conversation."

Nadir sniffed. "I have had both, and may I say that one is as anemic as the other?"

"Flatterer."

"What's next for you, Erik? Going to allow her to enjoy your body after the meal, or more arguing over which had more of an affect on Western culture- liturgical or secular music? I can't imagine how you are both awake at the end of such stimulating dialogue!"

He turned and stared at Nadir with gimlet eyes. "I believe I just heard an idiocy coming out of your mouth. One of many, I might add. There are zip to none who would enjoy sleeping with a corpse, least of all a beautiful woman like Christine, but be that as it may, it still remains none of your business."

"That would be a no then," Khan decided cheerfully. "You are the only one of my acquaintance who talks as if he has a board up his ass. Although you had better make your move soon, Erik before you are both too old to remember what goes where. She will not wait forever, you know."

"What makes you think she's waiting at all?" he returned shortly, stopping outside his classroom door. He could hear the murmur of voices inside.

"The way she looks at you," and with that cryptic remark, he sauntered away, humming an old Bee Gee's tune.

"He has smoked that hookah pipe one too many times," Erik muttered sourly, and caught some of the whispered conversation between Paige Jordan and a young woman he had never seen before.

"... okay, but once you get to know him, you'll eventually get used to it. And him. He's kinda cool," Paige said softly to the other girl, her eyes widening when she saw Professor Navarre watching them.

"Did you say something, Paige?" Erik asked, as she and the other girl looked up in surprise.

"Just telling Madison here a little about the class work. She's a transfer from Curtis in Philadelphia. That's Pennsylvania, sir."

"Yes, thank you all the same, Miss Jordan, but I do happen to be familiar with that state," he said wryly, noting the look which all new students gave him. When he first began teaching, it was disconcerting to feel like an object for study, but after years of it, he took it in stride for what it was. Their curiosity for one of their own standing outside the norm.

 _Way_ outside.

It was odd though. He never seemed to mind the stares when he was teaching, for he could tell when he had fired their attention. And it felt good.

He continued to mull over Khan's extraordinary words, viewing them from every side, every angle. Christine did not look at him in a certain way. Especially _that_ way. "He has funny weed in that pipe," he muttered.

"Professor?" Paige inquired, the transfer standing beside her, wide eyed and gawking at this new and strange species of teacher. They expected an answer. "Simply wondering what's in that hookah pipe Professor Khan smokes."

"Why don't you just ask him?"

"Because I am more or less afraid of the answer," he replied somberly, and ushered them inside.

* * *

The only good thing about the meet and greet for the patron, was Christine being forced to attend as well. Perhaps he could get her all to himself in some quiet corner, and afterward casually invite her to join him at his house. He had recently recorded a concert at Carnegie Hall and wanted her to watch it with him.

He heard a light trill of laughter, and realized that someone had got there before him. He glanced to the corner as another sweet peal of laughter left her throat, and was surprised to see the back of a blonde haired man blocking Christine from his view. A man with wide shoulders and a trim waist wearing an expensive Armani suit. Intensely interested as to why they nearly had their heads together in an all too intimate way, he walked steadily over to their corner, curtly greeting his fellow professors as he went.

Nadir turned from Margaret Giry, their resident queen of the dance, and sidled up to Erik. "That handsome gentleman over there with Christine is Ravenwood's illustrious patron, Raoul de Chagny. The whole family is as rich as Croesus, getting wealthy selling overpriced sneakers to the masses from stores around the country. Tread lightly, friend...it seems they were acquainted long ago."

"You don't say," he uttered softly, never taking his eyes off of the competition.

"I don't know what I was expecting," pixie-like Meg said, gesturing to de Chagny with a tinkle of ice from the drink in her hand, "but it sure as hell wasn't that stud muffin."

"Waxing poetic again, are we, Margaret?" he smoothly intoned.

"No, Erik," she replied patiently. "Just getting some eye candy. I leave the poetry to you."

"Indeed," his amber eyes narrowing on a possible contender as he reached Christine and the Patron Saint of Ravenwood. She looked over de Chagny's shoulder, and broke into a wide grin. "Here is our resident genius now!"

The man turned, a polite smile on his face, which just as suddenly vanished when he looked up at the much taller man. "How do...do you d-do?"

Christine covered that little gaff with an introduction. "Raoul de Chagny, may I present Dr. Erik Navarre? Professor of music theory at Ravenwood, and an all round good guy."

"Pleased, I'm sure," Erik said rigidly, noting the other man's oh so handsome face.

Here was trouble.

"Raoul is an old acquaintance, Erik. We were councellors together at summer camp years ago and dated a few times. It's been ages though since we last met, and we're just catching up with each other."

Erik's heart plummeted to his shiny black shoes.

A bushel barrel of trouble.

* * *

"I told you to make your move a long time ago, didn't I? If you would have listened to Uncle Nadir, this would have been resolved already with you and Christine playing house with dividends in the boudoir, but no, you wouldn't-"

"Do be quiet, Khan. My stomach is seasick, and I have a whole section of timpani in my head," Erik growled weakly, squeezing his temples in a vain attempt to press out the pain. "I have no idea why I feel like something the cat sicked up, but I do, so _whisper,_ if you please."

"Well, what have you eaten or drunk today?"

"Coffee and toast, which at the moment is intent to see the light of day again."

"Too much information, Erik." He leaned forward in the chair, and regarded his friend who had his long length stretched out on the couch. "This wouldn't have anything to do with that sinfully rich and handsome de Chagny fellow leaving the get-together yesterday with Christine in tow, would it?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Erik protested faintly. "Of course it doesn't! I-" He slapped a hand over his mouth, and rolled off the couch, stumbling toward the powder room in the back hall.

"Of course it doesn't," Nadir mimicked snidely. "You have it bad, my friend, and refuse to deal with your emotions where Christine is concerned.

"But the mind knows and your body suffers for it."

Five minutes later, Erik shuffled back to the living room and muttered through a scratchy throat, "Lock up on your way out."

"I will. Can I get you anything before I leave?"

Erik shook his head, already trudging to the stairs opposite the front door, his aching head and joints trying to out-do each other in garnering his attention. "A new body," he mumbled carefully on a wave of nausea.

How about a cup of mint tea for the old one?"

"No," his voice laced with disgust at the very thought of swallowing anything at the moment.

Rest well then," Nadir said cheerfully, his robust health having no patience with illness. How often had _he_ been the invalid while Erik sailed easily through every cold season and flu outbreak. In fact, he would need to keep his distance from the sick man lest he catch what was going around. Yet in a burst of goodwill, he told himself that he needed to check back later that evening on his friend.

He wouldn't return until noon of the next day.

* * *

By eight o'clock, Christine was ready to call it an evening. Raoul had been fun, and pleasant enough company as they caught up with what they had been doing in the interim, but they were poles apart on what they each considered relevant. They had developed disparate interests, and she found herself yearning for another's company, one who would be settling down right about now with a good book.

She glanced at her watch again. "Listen, could you drop me off in the Menlo Park area?"

"Only if I can convince you to join me for dinner tomorrow," he replied, smiling hopefully. "Say...seven?"

Christine was ready to say no, when an image of a tight lipped and disapproving Erik observing Raoul and she, swam to the forefront of her mind. Perhaps she could use this reconnection to her advantage, and found herself agreeing. "Don't see why not," and scribbled out her address on a piece of paper from her purse. He was as good as his word, pulling up to the curb in front of Erik's house. It was a large Tudor she had always admired, in a neighborhood of old, carefully preserved homes sitting on one acre lots.

Erik had bought the house for a song when he first began teaching, and lovingly renovated it over the years when time and money became available. It sat well back from the quiet street beneath century old white oaks, and over the years had become a comfortable and cozy home he'd made for himself. It was his fortress when the world became a little too much to bear. On the bright side, they had prepared many a meal in its sprawling kitchen and enjoyed warm summer evenings on the patio behind the house.

Raoul sat back in his seat and glanced at her curiously, having noticed the name Navarre on the mailbox. He gestured to the house. "What's up with the mask?"

"A deformity since birth. It's quite severe, but Erik never let that stop him. He has managed to publish some of his music and carve out a good life for himself," she found herself saying in his defense.

Raoul wondered at that tone of veneration she used whenever she talked about the man, and found himself envying the professor. Which made no sense.

"Erik influences his students to treat music as an expression of self and not merely as an occupation. He's a fine teacher and amazing once you get to know him."

"You really admire him, don't you?" he said with a faint smile.

She smiled back. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yes, ma'am. It is. Out of all of your colleagues, his was the name that popped up most frequently. Which leads me to ask if it's anything else?"

Christine chose not to answer him, and put her hand on the door handle of the silver Lexus. Raoul was out of his seat and around to her side in ten seconds.

"How will you get home?"

"Erik will take me," holding onto his hand for a second. "This has been great seeing you again, Raoul," she said softly. "Until tomorrow, then," and began digging for her key to the back door.

"Shall I walk you there?"

She shook her head. "I'm perfectly safe. It's a very peaceful neighborhood...most are elderly."

"Your professor should feel right at home then," he sniped.

"He's only a few years older than you," she informed him. "Erik is forty-one."

"Add another ten to that and I'll believe you," he muttered. "He's a little staid for you, don't you think, Chris?"

"No, I do not. You don't know him like I do. Erik is... lots of fun."

"Whatever," he answered dismissively, staring at the house. "There don't seem to be many lights on...just the one to the right of the door. Sure he's home?"

"That's the study. He often naps on the couch in there. He probably never woke up to turn on any others," she stated with conviction.

"Naps often, does he?"

Christine shrugged. "He doesn't always sleep well at night. Sometimes he has insomnia."

"Oh?" de Chagny answered with just the right amount of innuendo.

"Good night, Raoul," she said firmly, refusing to be baited. It was none of his business where she slept. Or with whom, for that matter, she thought wistfully.

She followed the sidewalk around to the back of the house, disappearing from view. Raoul turned and got back in his car, wondering idly, just how often Christine made use of that key.

* * *

She didn't even bother to knock, being told by Erik long ago that she was always welcome, day or night. She kicked off her shoes just inside the door, and switched on the main light in the kitchen, glancing around as she did so. Neat and tidy as it usually was.

"Erik?" she called, going to the cellar door and opening it, knowing he often puttered about in his small workshop down there.

Pitch black.

Christine closed the door and walked further into the house, hearing only the humming of the fridge and the tick of the wall clock beside the Welsh dresser Erik had lovingly restored. She passed through the large dining room filled with more antiques, and toward the study tucked away to the right of the front stairs. She opened the door and peeked in, surprised to find it empty. The gleaming piano in the far corner was empty as well, and so was the comfortable old couch where they had spent many an evening. Her brow furrowed in a slight frown, having already checked to see if his car was in the garage. (it was) She sat down in a chair and decided to make herself comfortable until he reappeared. It was possible he was taking a shower, but after sitting quietly for twenty minutes, she became restless and got to her feet. This wasn't like him.

"Erik?" she called again, going back to the front hall, deciding to hang propriety and check for him upstairs. Christine felt for the wall switch at the top of the stairs and flicked it on, relieved to finally see where she was going. Feeling a strange need to be quiet, she tiptoed down the hallway, glad that he had once given her a tour of the house shortly after they met.

She paused outside of his room, the door wide open. Muttering under her breath about busybodies and do-gooders, she stepped inside the room, the feeble light allowing her to see the bed, which did indeed appear to be occupied. It wasn't like Erik to retire this early. Actively worried now, she approached the bed and put a tentative hand on his shoulder. He was above the covers, and she could feel the heat radiating off of him even as he shivered with cold chills. Quickly, she switched on the bedside lamp and looked closely at her friend.

Her unmasked friend.

The face he kept hidden from the world was bared to her, and aside from her extreme discomfort at the sight, Christine realized she was never meant to see it. She was the interloper here; nonetheless, she took a couple of deep breaths, and placed a hand on his forehead, trailing it down his neck, the skin feeling hot and tight. She placed her palm back on his forehead, and startled when he moaned his relief at the coolness of it.

He swam up from the murky pit where things crawled and slithered. He was burning up...being seared alive, and would give anything for a drink of water. A foul taste lingered in his dry mouth, and he poked his tongue around, trying to wet his chapped lips.

"Water," he gasped, and Christine went into the adjoining bathroom and filled a glass. Coming back quickly, she slipped her arm behind Erik's head and gently lifted him up.

"Here. Take little sips," as he attempted to gulp down the entire glass. "Slowly, now."

He began to cough, and she set the glass down, briskly rubbing his skinny back, thinking that her friend had finally succumbed to the flu going round. For years, Erik remained disgustingly healthy while the rest of the school staff picked up every circulating bug known to mankind, and became housebound until well again. She herself had been the cranky recipient of surprisingly tender care from him, by way of chicken noodle soup and herbal teas. He would sit and watch over her, often bunking on her couch until the worst was over and she was on the mend.

"Christine?" he rasped, his beautiful voice sounding scratchy and hoarse. "How... you get in?"

"The key you gave me, dear. Remember?" her eyes drawn again and again to a face without definite form, only stark angles and skin stretched far too tightly over the sharp blades of his cheekbones. He had no nose.

She wanted to cry for him. She wanted to cry for her reaction to it.

"No, doan remember," and leaned his throbbing head against her shoulder. "Am I dying?" he muttered.

Her arm tightened around him, offering him another few sips of cool water. To someone like Erik who had been healthy as a horse for years, being ill would feel close to fatal. "You are certainly not dying; your build-up of antibodies has finally run out. You, my friend, have the flu. Where are your pajamas? I'll get them for you, and help you get undressed. You need under the covers, not on top of them," she said easily, beginning to feel more comfortable with his naked face. She felt a _little_ unsettled. But after all, hadn't this very same countenance gazed upon her countless times with only the thinness of silicone between them? This face had always been there in front of her.

The very thought of the woman he adored treating him like someone old and infirm, did not sit well with Erik. He was not the average everyday needy sick man. He was scrawny and ugly... not attractive on his best day, let alone an ill one. "I can do it," he wheezed, wishing he could just crawl away and die, as his nothing nose worked itself up into a gargantuan sneeze. "I'll call you when I'm feeling better," his fingers pressing to his face.

His face.

Not the mask.

 _His face._

"Leave now," he choked, his breath coming in pants, the awfulness of the moment brought home to him by the presence of his mask on the nightstand where he had tossed it earlier.

"Nonsense. I'm going to get you some aspirin. Where's your pajamas, Erik?" she asked him again in her Iron Maiden voice. "I'm not leaving, so get used to it."

"You most certainly...are... going home. I don't require a nursemaid, so... on your way." He never raised his face from a splayed hand which shook, instead speaking through his fingers as he reached for the mask and held it to his wreck of a face.

"No, sir," she said stubbornly, "you need someone to take care of you. You're all alone here. I can get you some ginger ale or...or a cup of tea. And I'll make you some soup. My mom's recipe."

"If you hold _any_ affection for me, Christine, any at all, you will immediately take yourself out of here. I didn't invite you," he railed weakly, wanting her gone. He was horrified by what she had seen.

"You stayed with me when I was sick. Remember? I didn't even think of throwing _you_ out," Christine replied, hurt.

He was dying and she wanted to argue with him. "Leave now," a cough exploding from his mouth. "Go... home. Khan will see to me when he returns."

"I can't," she answered sullenly. "Raoul dropped me off, and I thought you'd give me a ride home."

"Take my car. You know where the keys are."

He was sick. Of course he was, and to lash out at him was cruel, but she had always thought that even if they never moved on to more in their relationship, they would still have each other to lean on. The truth of it was... Erik didn't trust her. He didn't trust anyone really, but she always prided herself on being one of the very select few that came the closest. "You'd rather have Nadir care for you? Why, he can barely take care of himself, let alone his sick friend!"

"I prefer him to you," he said hoarsely, and realized far too late how badly that sounded, but he was too sick to correct himself now.

She opened her mouth to argue with him, and decided it was useless. He didn't want her here.

Not a bit.

"Very well," Christine returned stiffly. "If you don't want my help, I'll leave you to it. You've made yourself perfectly clear I'm not needed." She turned at the door. "I hope you feel better soon, Erik."

Aside from the pounding of his head, and the ghastly feeling of exposure, he felt a niggle of unease that he had lost his friend. He promised himself that if he lived through this, he would make it up to her. But really, he had no desire to see her do drudge work for him. Or have her watch him staggering to the bathroom clutching his stomach, or observe him cleaning the mucous from his nothing nose which dripped steadily like a leaky spigot. How degrading that she should see him at his worst, his face stripped bare and sicker than he'd ever been. He would have no chance at all compared to the blonde Adonis.

He didn't even know if he wanted one now.

Perhaps the congestion would overcome him and shut down the works for good.

In this frame of mind, he waited for the Persian to come back.

And waited.

* * *

"How many times must I tell you that I am sorry?" Nadir grumbled. "If your lady fair was willing to care for you, you should have let her! I'm sure that women live for that sort of thing."

"I am in love with Christine, not considering her as a nanny, you ass! Besides... she saw the face of the dead man she befriended two years ago," he said dismally, "and that must have been a shock! I know it was for me."

"What is it you want me to do, Erik?"

"She wanted to put me into pajamas. Can you imagine that, Khan?" his astonishment undimmed. "But at this stage, I really do need a change of clothes. As I'm not going anywhere, it might as well be nightwear," and pointed out the drawer where his pajamas were kept. Nadir, mumbling imprecations beneath his breath, did as he was bid, reluctantly aiding the sick man to undress and get into his night things. Erik's skin crawled with even more heat as he was manhandled into them.

When he pointed out the indignity of having someone undress him, a grumpy Nadir exhorted, "Seen it all before, Erik. You have the same equipment as I do, so stop your venting at me!" He wrestled his friend under the blankets, and yanked them up to his bony chin. "There! What else is it you require of me?"

"Aspirin a-and some ginger ale," he said petulantly. He was sorry now... _very_ sorry that he had sent his little angel of mercy away. Her hand had felt so good on his forehead.

Khan nodded wearily, and left his patient to doze, and went downstairs to get him some ginger ale over ice.

He could only hope Erik would bounce back quickly before _he_ collapsed.

All told, Erik remained in bed for one night and into noon of the next day, after which he became ambulatory. Sort of. Nadir spent the night in the spare room, and promised himself that he would shove that little bell Erik rang all night, down his scrawny throat if he didn't stop.

It was hell.

As grumpy as his friend could get on a good day, sick, he was worse than a spoiled ten year old child. Not that Khan knew what a ten year old child was like with the flu, but he was quite certain Erik was one. To wit-

"The mask remains _on._ I certainly don't need to see you fainting beside my bed because you can't take no for my answer. It. stays. _on._ "

Or-

"Canned soup, Khan? Christine was going to fix me homemade. Erik has had enough. A little less salt would be better, wouldn't you agree? Either way, any more of it, and _I_ shall faint!"

And-

"The sheets feel scratchy. I'd like to sit in the chair for a while, if you don't mind. Help me up."

"Please," said a disgruntled Nadir.

"Please what?"

"You forgot to say _please_ , Erik."

"I need to go downstairs sometime today. I never finished my grading, and I am weary of this bed. This room. And you're not looking all that good yourself at the moment," he was nice enough to inform a frazzled Nadir Khan. "I need a change of scenery, and you are being much too difficult."

He was a grown man, and he nearly started to cry when Erik called _him_ difficult. The Persian wasn't worried about the element of risk a disagreeable Erik presented, for he had put up with his ill-humors for years.

After all, how much damage could they inflict on each other?

So when Christine returned Erik's car along with a large fruit basket, Khan was ready to happily smother his _ex-_ friend and plead insanity. He opened the door to Christine, and she had to admit that a run-ragged Nadir, was a whole new side to the man.

"How is he?" she asked coolly.

"See for yourself," he said wearily, waving a hand. "He's in the study ensconced on the couch, wrapped in that afaghan you made for him. He insisted that it was the _only_ thing he wished to wrap himself in, and made me trudge back upstairs to get it."

"He said that? I didn't even know he used it! He didn't seem too impressed when I gave it to him last Christmas." Christine shrugged. "Listen, I can't stay long. Raoul is waiting for me." She clutched the fruit basket to her chest. "I can't believe he's up and about already."

"Well, he's still a little weak, but he's turned the corner for the better. Very sick people don't usually _talk_ their way through the flu! He wobbled his way downstairs this evening with my help, I might add, and hasn't moved since! He's worn himself out, pretending he's not sick, so he feels no urge to get well, but damn it, I'm making him!"

"Now, now. Now, now," she murmured comfortingly. "You know what they say about healthy people who finally catch ill."

"No, I am afraid I do not," he snapped.

"Why, they make the very worst patients!"

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay with him for a while? He's been fretting non-stop about you. What happened yesterday?"

"Oh, nothing much. He simply told me to hit the road. I wasn't wanted _or_ needed."

"Are we talking about Erik Navarre? There will never be a day he doesn't want or need you, Christine."

"Nice try, Professor Khan. I'm going in and say a quick hello and an even quicker goodbye."

"He's the very devil. There's broth which he refuses to eat- said yours would have been much better. He's only interested in tea and ginger ale. I can't coax him to eat. Beg him, is more like it!"

She had to admit that she'd been skeptical about a middle-aged bachelor taking care of another, especially when one of them was _her_ middle-aged bachelor, and she told the Persian how surprised she was to have been proven wrong.

Nadir's laugh was a wonky cackle. "I want him better, Christine, so I can get the hell out of here! He is obstinate and bad-tempered."

"He's a dear sweet man most of the time."

"Do not let him fool you. He is only like that with you. The rest of the time he is anti-social and thoroughly disagreeable."

"Nonsense."

"He is a grump! Only spend some time with him and you will see."

"I can think of one other with the same problem," she said quietly.

"Huh? What was that?"

"Nothing," Christine soothed. "Nothing at all. Just let me go in and say a quick hello, all right?"

"Be my guest. Maybe after he has seen you, his mood will lighten."

She approached his study on tiptoe. If he was asleep, she could at least use that as an excuse for leaving without saying goodbye. Not that he would turn puppy dog eyes on her. More like a raptor's... unblinking and unfailingly watchful. It had taken a long time to get used to his direct way of observing her, as he observed everyone. As though waiting for someone to slip up and attack him for being different from them.

He was awake.

Erik turned and looked fretfully at her. "Christine!" the sick man croaked. "Sit and keep me company." He got a good look at his beloved, observed the liquid shine in her eyes. "Forgive me for... for...for-"

"How are you feeling?"

"Much better," as another cough exploded out of his mouth.

"Yes, I can see that. What are you doing out of bed?"

"Recuperating," he wheezed.

Her heart had gone out to him as he lay on the couch, huddled beneath the purple and cream afaghan she crocheted for him. He appeared frail and breakable, and she watched helplessly as he coughed and choked, dismayed to see him so ill.

Christine poured Erik some water from the carafe on the small table and handed it to him. "I brought your car back," she said when the coughing had subsided. "And a fruit basket," stating the obvious as she had plunked the large basket of fruit topped with a bright red bow, down on the coffee table in front of him. "Fruit is good for you, you know."

"Yes. Thank you. But explain how you will get home now?"

"Well, the thing is... Raoul followed me here. He's going to take me home so I can get ready."

His suspicion radar went up. "Where are you going?"

"I have a dinner date."

He tilted his head at her, wondering how she could stand to look at him with his mussed and greasy hair (what there was of it), and red-rimmed watery eyes. "With who?" trying his best to sound interested instead of territorial.

Which he was.

Interested _and_ territorial.

"Well, with Raoul. He invited me to dinner yesterday, and I accepted," she replied, trying for nonchalant.

And failing.

"You seem to have become quite close in a few short hours," sounding forbidding, or would have if only he hadn't sneezed, and turned from her to lift the mask and take care of business.

"Raoul is a friend, Erik. There's nothing wrong with enjoying an old friend's company, is there? I would be more than accepting of someone from your past."

"There is no one from my past. I left them all there."

She stood up just as Khan rapped knuckles lightly on the door. "Am I interrupting?"

"No, Nadir. You are not. I was just leaving," she said stiffly. She turned to Erik and her gaze softened. "Feel better soon."

Erik waved a hand at her. "Don't bother yourself any longer with the state of my health, Christine. Enjoy your _dinner,"_ he managed to sneer, before laying his head back and closing his eyes.

"I intend to," she answered, even as she felt a small twinge of guilt. But he had refused her help and she was free to come and go as she pleased. Christine gave Nadir a pained smile and muttered, "Good luck."

Erik listened forlornly to the sound of her fading footsteps, unhappily contemplating her and de Chagny sitting cozily in some fancy restaurant while he wallowed in misery.

Opening his eyes, he stared intensely at Khan.

"He can't have her."


	2. Chapter 2

After three days, he no longer walked like a drunken sailor on shore leave, and pronounced himself fit enough to return to his classes. He had not seen Christine since her last visit to his home, and through the teacher grapevine, learned she was spending more time in de Chagny's company. To his deep regret, there were no more cozy evenings in front of the fire, no dinners cooked as they listened to music, and no playing her favorite pieces on the piano as she sat curled up in a chair.

There was no more of her gentle teasing that he had come to expect. And cherish.

The concert he had recorded for the two of them, he was forced to watch alone.

Phoning her was an exercise in futility- his calls went to voicemail and forlornly sat there, shoved in with the rest of the abandoned messages she would never return. What was also disconcerting- she no longer had lunch with him in one or the others' office where they could relax a bit over a quick sandwich and coffee. In the past, she had always made time for him, often forgetting their tight schedules as they fell into one of their friendly arguments usually centered in musical theatre, but those days were also gone. She would spy him striding toward her in the halls and reverse course, making good her escape, but one afternoon he finally managed to corner her and his fit of pique at her shabby treatment was regrettable as well as unstoppable.

"Well, Professor Daae...not quite fast enough today giving me the slip, were you?"

"I have no idea what you are alluding to, Professor Navarre," she returned stiffly.

"Does running the other way ring any bells for you?" alarmed by this coolly polite woman.

"I do have a tendency to hurry when I'm late, Erik, and if you don't mind, you are about to make me late again!" she snapped. "I have an important meeting in the production department, so if you'll excuse me-"

"No. I will not." He glanced down the long hallway. "But, I see what you mean," his tone altogether too friendly. "Of course you'll be late. since the stage happens to be the other way, as you well know. Try another one, dear girl."

And he waited, in no hurry to go anywhere until she answered him.

Galled by his presumption, she said churlishly, "I have absolutely no idea what you're going on about, Erik, so if you don't mind, you can just stop _looming_ over me and get out of my way!"

"What's wrong, Christine?" his gentle concern pulling her up short. It was not a tone she heard often from the taciturn man.

"N-Nothing." she said defensively.

"Then why am I seeing less of you? If it's something I've done, then please accept my heartfelt apology. I miss my friend," his eyes troubled as they searched hers.

"Nothing. It's nothing." She made good her escape, leaving him to stare gloomily after her.

This body of evidence led him to one glaring conclusion- she had been frightened off by his hellish face. Christine had finally had enough of the ugly creature she once called friend and replaced him with another.

He was miserable.

So when several of the other teachers made certain he knew Christine had accepted a weekend invitation to visit de Chagny's large opulent home in the country, Erik was terrified he was about to lose her forever.

He was forced to act.

* * *

Christine calmly took her neatly folded underthings from the laundry basket and placed them in a drawer, her serene air completely bogus. She felt wound up and on edge, and the reason was more than obvious to her. Yet try though she might, she couldn't convince a certain gentleman to vacate the comfortable niche he occupied inside of her head and leave her the hell alone. She removed a pair of jeans from the wicker basket and stood clutching them in one hand, staring pensively at the back wall until she saw double. "Ooh... that man!" and hurled the jeans in frustration at the upholstered chair sitting innocently in its corner.

"Tut tut. Is that any way to treat your clothes?"

She jumped upon hearing that compelling voice, as if he had been able to breach her tangled thoughts and become flesh and blood and bone. She whirled around to find him leaning against the doorjamb watching her.

" _What_ man, if I may ask?"

"You may not! Now, just what do you think you're doing, sneaking up on me like that?" she said irritably. "If I'd had a gun, I would have shot you for an intruder!"

"Then I am profoundly grateful that you abhor the things." Erik nodded at the soft fall of hair to her shoulders. "You should wear it like that more often. It suits you."

"What do you want?"

"Since you have no time for me anymore, I had to make some of my own."

"Ever hear of that dandy new invention of Bell's? It's called the _telephone_."

"Wonderful, is it not? And it works too, as long as the recipient on the other end follows through and performs the second component of that dandy new invention. In plain English... returning the call." He straightened up and advanced on her. "Why are you avoiding me?"

"I-I've been busy. End of term exams are coming, as you well know," Christine replied waspishly, standing her ground.

He came to a halt a foot from her. "It has nothing to do with what you were unfortunate enough to see?"

His eyes were focused and intent, head cocked to the side in that curious bird-like scrutiny which he could command. It nearly always made her fidget, and nearly always made her feel empathy with his students. "See? What... oh! No, no, no, Erik," putting both hands up as though trying to forcefully shove his accusation away. "That would be entirely ridiculous of me, now wouldn't it? I've known for two years that you wear the mask for a reason! It makes absolutely no difference in our friendship, if that's what you mean."

He saw the truth of it in her eyes, and his knees of a sudden felt weak. However, it did not address their immediate problem. Which could only mean one other thing. "Gadding about with an old... _acquaintance_ has nothing to do with it either, I trust? He seems to be living in your pocket these days."

She turned and made a show of folding her jeans neatly over the chairback, not looking at him. "Well, what's not to like there, Erik? He's got money and looks."

"So do I," he said bluntly. "You simply never specified how much or what kind."

"I'm having fun," ignoring him. "I've spent far too many years pursuing a career, and forgetting there's more to life than academia. I want more...I want a husband...children, maybe."

"I thought we _were_ having fun, dear girl! You always seemed to enjoy my company, strange as that seems! What has changed?" The bottom had dropped out of his stomach when she spoke of marriage to de Chagny, and he wondered if he was having a relapse. He felt slightly nauseous, his eyes watering as though trying to hold in a violent sneeze.

"Raoul mentioned a trip to Europe," she returned casually, conveniently skipping over his question. She finally looked at him. " _Europe!_ Can you imagine? I've always wanted to go, but I just never got around to it. Too busy with a career and forgetting how to have a good time, but that's about to change."

"Yes, and the two of you no doubt sleeping in the same room...the...the same bed," his words causing a pain to knife straight through him. The image of her in the arms of another, was a torture his insidious mind provided so very easily.

Christine tossed her head. "What's it to you, Erik?"

" _We_ could go to Europe. Anywhere, really, as long as we go together."

"I've known you for two years now, and you've never wanted more than what you have now. Meals at each others' homes, an occasional concert. You take one trip per year, and have never intimated that you wished to spend it with me.

"We are in a rut. You see me as a...a friend, a sidekick only, and not a very close one at that, or you wouldn't have pushed me away like you did when you were sick!"

"Push you away? Why would... I never _pushed_ you away!" he sputtered.

"You most certainly did, Erik! I wanted to...to take care of you, and you told me in no uncertain terms to leave!" Her hurt from his rejection was finally seeing the light of day...

...and its harsh glare was blinding him.

"Well, of course I did!" his voice filled with indignation, and a morsel of admiration for Khan. The Persian had told him that exact thing. Christine had expected to nurse him through the illness and he had denied her that luxury. He couldn't wrap his mind around the thought of anyone, let alone this lovely lady... "Why would I want the woman... the woman that I..."

She raised an eyebrow. "The woman that you _what_?"

"Was that picture really necessary?" he said quickly, wagging a bony finger at the eight by ten of him seated at the piano in his study.

"It was if I wanted to capture a virtuoso at home!" declared Christine, and to a bemused Erik, making him sound like an exceedingly rare and nearly extinct branch of H. sapien. "It's actually quite nice, and I needed a picture of my...my friend."

"But why do you have it beside your bed?" eying the picture with distaste. He was in profile, looking like an angular smear of black, his pale hands poised like claws over the keys. Aside from the lifelike mask that showed a long narrow nose that in truth he didn't possess, and lips so thin they barely existed, oddly enough, he looked vaguely normal, albeit a very _thin_ normal. Like a shadow, he was.

"That's the picture I took of you with my phone last year, remember?"

"Yes, I remember. I wouldn't wish this miserable bit of protoplasm on anyone, and you keep a picture of it beside your bed! How many pretty dreams do you have with it so close to your pillow?" His agile mind was delighting in showing him a sleep warmed Christine, hair tousled and eyes looking drowsily up at him. He would lean down as both hands cradled her head, fingers sinking into her hair, lips waiting, welcoming the touch of his...

"...surprised at the dreams I have, Erik!" her mood and tone defiant. "Are you even _listening_ to me? You are my dearest friend and I wanted to care for you as you cared for me. What is so horrible about that?"

"Because what is repulsive in a healthy state is much worse when it is ill. My tendency is to hide like a wounded animal until it passes, Christine, and I certainly do not permit your dainty hands to touch what has become even more loathsome."

"You are not and never have been loathsome to me! How absurd you are!

"And my hands are anything but dainty, you silly man! I would have done a much better job caring for you than Khan did, and be a lot more cheerful doing it," she added vehemently.

"Dear me... but you _are_ confident in your nursing abilities, aren't you? But then again, I suppose I'd have to agree." He crossed his arms over his chest and studied her with a slightly wounded air. "Although to think that you consider our association to be no more than a friendly rut, cuts deep."

"Oh, stuff it!" she said, exasperated. "I have always enjoyed our quiet pursuits, and you know it! I can think of nothing which pleases me more.

"And before you say anything else, I _know_ how difficult it must be to navigate through a curious and sometimes hostile world... I'm sure it's much easier to be yourself without constantly feeling prying eyes on you! I understand that, and I have always admired your courage to live your life in the open as much as you do. I-I could never do what you have accomplished," her voice growing softer, "but you're basically a child of the dark and have no need to rectify that. Least of all for me."

"I'm not sure what led you to this conclusion. It is true that I prefer far less people than is good for a college professor, and I have no real use for daytime pursuits, but I thought we have done very well with our friendship."

"You feel no kindred of souls between yours and mine," she protested. "Friends, yes, but so you are with Nadir...in some ways, maybe closer."

"You are very wrong about that, Christine, as I am quite certain our souls have more in common than you think."

"Perhaps," she returned unconvinced, "but I don't think we'll ever be much more than what we are now to each other," and he wondered at the sense of frustration bleeding into her tone. "You never answered my question, Erik. Why are you here?" slightly uneasy from the gleam in his eyes that was vaguely disturbing.

"Why?" he answered pleasantly, thinking on the fly, and when the light bulb went off in his head, said confidently...

"Because I am kidnapping you."

* * *

"You're mad! I have things to do," Christine seethed, staring hard at Erik as he turned into the parking lot of Ruby Gardens where a small fair had been set up. She could see the twinkling lights of the Ferris wheel as it revolved lazily against its backdrop of deep navy sky. They got out of the car, Erik taking her by the elbow and walking in the general direction of the lights.

"I promise to return you by midnight."

"Or what, fairy godmother? I'll turn into a pumpkin?"

"That's my girl!" her abductor said approvingly. "There's that sense of humor I have always admired in you."

Christine rolled her eyes. "I'm not amused though. Why do this? Couldn't you simply have invited me?"

He felt better not looking at her. "I'm very sure you would only have declined."

She pointedly cleared her throat. "I'd like an answer or is this a guessing game?"

He shook his head, still refusing to look at her. "I miss my fr... I miss you."

"So you insisted that I accompany you to an amusement park to ride the Ferris wheel just to prove that you miss me?" her voice climbing in disbelief.

"No."

"No?"

"We are going roller skating first."

"Are you _nuts_?"

He tilted his head and considered it. "Possibly."

"B-B-But I don't know how!"

He shrugged. "Neither do I."

"You're crazy, do you realize that, Erik? I-I'll break something!"

"I am out of my comfort zone," he explained patiently. "Shouldn't you be? You implied I was altogether too sober. Boring. In a rut..."

"Yes, yes. I get the picture!" rudely interrupting him.

"... so I decided to challenge that with entertainment to be had after dark.

"Since you label me as a child of the night," he added, finally deigning to look at her.

"Not if it's at the expense of my tailbone!"

"Trust me."

Which is how she found herself on skates, one hand clutching the wooden railing, her nails gouging divots in the wood. Her other hand was swallowed in Erik's large one as he coaxed her to let go and join him on the rink floor.

"Come along now, Christine. I thought you were dying to have fun?" he said, a touch mordantly.

"Yes, but without actually doing it! I'll likely break my neck," she fumed.

"Trust me?"

"Yes, you already said that. _Trust?_ I suppose I should, but it would mean more if you did the same where I am concerned."

"I trust you," his voice very very soft. "Even after you took that picture of me with your phone."

"Believe it or not, Erik, I love that picture."

"Yes, I'm sure that's why you keep it by your bed."

"Well, why else would I keep it there?" she rejoined, exasperated with him.

"I find it very hard to accept my gruesome countenance being the last thing you wish to see before you shut your eyes every night," clearly not impressed.

"Oh? Is that why you insisted I leave you when you were ill? Because you aren't dear enough to me to care that you are sick? Nadir told me you were alone all night and well into the next day. It pains me to think of you ailing and helpless and it's all _your_ fault!"

He snorted at this. "It no doubt is, but I was never helpless, Christine. You see me alive and well now, do you not?"

"I wanted to take care of you," she insisted stubbornly. "You did for me as I recall."

"Again with this?" He let out an exasperated breath. "Very well. The next time I feel feverish, you shall be the first to know. Now listen to your doctor, and come with me. The exercise will do you good."

She bravely let go of the wall and teetered on her skates, now both of her hands swallowed in his. "Don't kid yourself! You're a doctor of music, Erik. You can do amazing things with a sick melody line, but that's as far as your expertise extends," and squeaked when her jeans clad leg started to vacillate wildly, her nails biting into the scant flesh of his palms.

"Then consider yourself an ailing nocturne requiring my... _expertise,_ " wincing as he righted her.

"Well, I suppose I must. After all, you are my kidnapper," she said prosaically, but he was gratified to see her smothering a grin on that delectable mouth he so longed to kiss.

"Yes. Listen to your captor," he admonished. "You'll see. I won't let any harm come to you. I swear it!"

"Ooh...all right, you lunatic, but if you let me fall, I'm taking you down with me!"

Christine took small choppy steps, feeling ridiculous as they both wobbled their way around the eight thousand square foot rink on the twelve by twelve interlocking plastic tiles. The rink with benches scattered around its circumference and a snack bar tucked away at one end, was set up for the summer season and taken down when the days shortened toward fall.

Kids no more than seven or eight, whizzed by them, closely followed by a mix of young and old, some to Christine's chagrin, skating backward much easier than she was doing going forward. Her companion seemed to have got the hang of it, as he held her securely upright, one spindly arm about her waist, keeping her snugly against his side as they made their cautious way around the rink.

"Hey, you idiots! You nearly-" a couple of students from Ravenwood toed to a stop just before they plowed into the two teachers tottering across their path. "Professor Daae! Um... I never thought I'd see you here with... oh, ah...hello, sir," Gareth Jones quickly switched his tone to polite when Erik turned a jaundiced eye on him.

"You find us to be something less than perspicacious, do you, Jones?"

"No, sir. Not at all...just not very good on wheels."

Christine choked on a laugh when Erik rolled an eye her way. "It's all right Gareth. There are some things we're not very good at," and steadied herself by clutching a handful of Erik's coat, "this happens to be one of them."

Jone's companion, a young woman with a mane of red hair and freckles to match, smiled sympathetically. "My mom can't skate either. The one time she did, she was dumped on her ass...I mean her butt, more times than I could count."

"We have no intention of doing the same," Erik declared in no uncertain terms. "I do believe we have the general principles of skating now."

"If you say so...sir," Gareth answered soberly as he lied, hard put not to laugh; the two professors had a lot in common with pigs on ice. "At least you're dressed to the teeth to do it. Sir," skeptically eying Erik's out of place suit and tie.

"There should be a little dignity involved when finding yourself abruptly sitting down when everyone else is standing up!" Christine said with a nervous laugh as the older man opened his mouth to reply. She was fairly certain it wasn't going to be a referral to Erik's tailor.

"Sure sure," the boy said, as he nudged his girlfriend and whispered, "what's next... bungee jumping?"

"Conceivably," Erik smirked unpleasantly, his acute hearing the bane of students everywhere, "once we've mastered skating and require more _fun._ "

"And I'll bet you nail that the same way, professor," Gareth said, backing slowly away from them. Erik's grim mouth had the look of a man longing to take a bite out of something- or someone, and Jones unconsciously began humming the theme to Jaws beneath his breath. He gave the teachers a hesitant salute and the pair took off, fairly dancing their way around the rink.

"That student of yours is far too cheeky," Erik muttered.

"That _is_ a lovely suit, doc, but you are a little overdressed, don't you think? Something a little more casual maybe?"

He took her arm firmly and tucked it through his. "No, I do not, Christine, and I am certain you would not want to see me dressed in _that_!" flicking a contemptible finger at the retreating Jones dressed in baggy green shorts and a yellow tee shirt which read, _Five Finger Death Punch._

She put a hand over her mouth to stop the giggle, but gave it up as a lost cause. The image of her lanky and reserved friend showing his no doubt bony knees and pipe stem legs, was too much for her sense of the ridiculous. "Okay... not that exactly, but perhaps a little less formal.. and dark. Some color now and then won't hurt you."

"Yes, you may laugh at your Erik, but I am doing you a favor by not revealing my limbs, so please be good enough to acknowledge my consideration for your... sensibilities," his lips curling up slightly.

"Oh, but I think you would look dashing!" and laughed at his loud snort. It suddenly occurred to her that she was having a wonderful time. She nodded at Gareth and his girlfriend as they passed them for the second time. "They skate beautifully, don't they, Erik?" Christine said wistfully as she watched them.

He started them moving again. "Probably been on skates before they were out of diapers," he retorted peevishly, picking up their own speed a little. They were even managing to keep a nice balance, and Erik glanced down lovingly at the top of her head. "See, Christine? Now, isn't this enjoyable?"

She nodded cautiously, relaxing a little in the mild evening air scented with growing things, the deep inverted bowl of the night sky arched over their heads as she basked in his touch. She tilted her head back, more to view the clusters of stars, than to rest against him (or so she told herself) and realized too late that they were not quite as stable as she had thought.

Erik scrambled to keep his balance, his treacherous legs going in different directions. It was utterly thick-headed of him to believe he could balance his spider's length on wheels with ball bearings. He felt like a giraffe must feel as it got used to standing on those impossibly long legs that permitted them to get the choicest leaves from the top of the tree. Gradually though, disaster was averted as he slowly brought himself upright while hanging on to his beloved, but just as he was congratulating himself, Christine panicked and began flapping her arms like a frightened bird startled into flight.

Down they went, his only concern to make sure she had a softer landing than he did, which meant that he bore the brunt of the hard floor. Erik grunted as she landed on top of him, their legs tangled together, while skaters parted around them, like water around a boulder in the middle of the stream.

He was dismayed when he looked down at Christine, her shoulders quaking and noises of distress coming from her mouth. "Are you hurt?"

She said nothing while he tenderly straightened her glasses which were hanging from one ear, and when he was done she promptly burrowed her face into his waistcoat and started to cry in earnest.

"Christine! Are you hurt? Answer me, damn you!" Erik growled, fear rampant in his voice. "Oh, this is all my fault! I will never attempt to have fun again. It's far too dangerous!" he moaned, and began feeling her limbs looking for injury.

She at last managed to shake her head, before collapsing weakly against his thin chest. "E-Erik!" she sputtered. "If you could only _hear_ yourself! I just adore your sweet talk!" she wheezed, sobering a little as she looked up and caught the glare of murder he threw her way. "My God, we must look a sight!" hard put to stop the breathless laughter shaking her small frame. "I only pray none of our students saw how easily we toppled! Especially after you informed them that we were quite good at this."

"You frightened ten years off my life, you wicked woman!" he snapped, arms nevertheless cradling her close.

"Serves you right! Abduction and bruises in the same night. For shame!" tapping him lightly on his bony chin.

"You have no bruises, you little fraud! I didn't fall on you...you fell on me!"

"You two okay down there?" a gruff voice from above asked, and they glanced up. A man and woman, both appearing well into their twilight years, stood looking at the couple still sprawled on the rink floor.

"Peachy," Christine said with a laugh. "It's our first time," she stated proudly.

"You don't say?" the elderly man replied, calmly surveying the painfully thin fella wearing a false face. Kids these days would do anything to get noticed. "Well, first time or not, you're supposed to kiss her now." It was obvious to him that the poor sucker was head over heels in love with the little lady. "Come on, mother. They'll figure it out," and took off, the old couple rolling along gracefully.

"Yes, thank you for all your help," Erik muttered after them, afraid to look at Christine.

She waited for an inestimable moment, sneaking peeks at her companion. "Up and at 'em, professor," she said at last with a resigned sigh. "Git back on that horse and ride."

"I think I broke my hip," he complained with a wince, knowing he had forfeited a rare chance to do what he'd longed to do for months...years. One kiss. Which may have become several. Disgusted with himself, he slowly unfolded his limbs and stood up. Bracing himself, he bent down and grasped Christine's elbows, and little by little, his feet planted at right angles, safely pulled her up to a standing position. Holding on to her, they carefully started moving again. "Come, I'll get you off of here without any further injury to my pride or your bones!"

"Only my funny bone, doc. We're here...let's do this." Christine cautiously slipped her arm around his narrow waist as they held each other up. "You went to all this trouble to snatch me, the least I can do is make it worth your while. We'll make two revolutions, and then we can honorably stop. What's next?"

"The Ferris wheel."

"Uh uh."

"No Ferris wheel?"

"Not until I have cotton candy."

* * *

Christine shivered in the cooler night air, and tugged her pink sweater closer. Wordlessly, Erik removed his jacket and draped it carefully around her.

Her protest was only halfhearted. "You might need this more than me," eying her friend's gaunt frame.

"Nonsense. I might look like an errant breeze could knock me over, but I'm really quite hale and hearty."

She grabbed his hand and held on to it. "You've only recently got over the flu."

They were beginning their first rotation of the Ferris wheel when she turned to him and said quietly, "The stars are so bright I feel I could almost reach out and touch one."

This close, he could smell her light perfume, his pitiful nose inhaling deeply to get even more of her sweetness, his gaze fascinated by her lips, tender and rosy and glistening in the lights of the immense wheel. As she talked, Erik's thoroughly willful arm crept up and shyly placed itself around her shoulders. "For warmth," he said gruffly, holding his breath, fearing she would throw off his gentle embrace.

She did nothing of the kind.

He found her head resting against his shoulder before a minute had gone by, and was confounded when she snuggled a cheek into the soft folds of his jacket.

She inhaled deeply. It smelled like him... a good clean male scent coupled with the aromatic tobacco from the occasional cigar he smoked.

"I prefer this much more than roller skating," she murmured contentedly.

He took a deep breath and expelled it into the night air, making up his mind before he lost his nerve. "I am going to kiss you now, Christine," he informed her. "As your abductor, I insist." His magnificent voice was deep and beguiling, and if there was a thread of anxiety present, he buried it beneath the mountain of desire he had fought with- forever it seemed. One long finger found itself resting beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his.

She had closed her eyes in anticipation, and parted her lips, smiling at the announcement of his intention. It was so very much Erik. She felt the edge of the mask scraping softly across her upper lip, his touch was feather light, mouth brushing experimentally across hers, ready to pull away if she showed the slightest discomfort.

She did not.

His heart felt a stutter of happiness, ballooning quickly into a euphoria he had never known before. His mouth settled fully onto hers, and began moving, tasting lips made only sweeter for the pink candy floss she had eaten. How could a mouth and a small hand caressing the back of his neck, bring such fierce joy...he would never know.

His first real kiss. On the lips. He was sure that as high as they were, he was that much closer to Heaven with the warm treasured weight of her in his arms. He wanted only to stay here with Christine, riding this marvelous conveyance forever. To the stars and back they would go, their feet never again touching the surly earth, remaining locked in each others' arms where no hurt, no distractions, and no misunderstandings could ever separate them.

When he reluctantly pulled away from her, she regarded him with tender eyes, her hand stroking the cheek of his mask. "That was lovely, dear. May I have another?"

He could only manage a nod, as he kissed her again, his mouth pressing firmly to hers, Christine's arms sheltering him in a tight hold. There they stayed until the further slowing of the giant wheel brought the ride to an end.

The return to earth, took away the confidence that the starry sky and privacy had afforded them, and silently he led her to the parking lot and home. Numerous times, he had nearly blurted out his love for her, the image of her looking back at him in puzzlement, stopping him. He had no claims on her; playful kidnapping aside, he wanted to keep her in his life, not push her out of it. It was better to wait and see how she processed his fumbling attempt at kissing before declaring himself. She seemed to enjoy it, but reading Christine's mind was not his strong suit. Although after tonight, his fledgling hope was allowing him the tiny belief that she would call off her visit to de Chagny and take away the gnawing ache dead center in his chest.

When he walked her to her door after the mostly quiet ride home, Erik took the house key from her hand and slid it into the lock, before turning to her.

"You've been a good sport tonight, Christine. Humoring an old man and his odd notions of fun as you have. Will I see you tomorrow?" doggedly waiting for her to declare de Chagny null and void for the chance to spend the weekend with her friend.

"Perhaps," secretly hopeful that he would kiss her again and plead with her to cancel the trip. She was disappointed when he did no such thing.

If only he wasn't such a coward, he would demand that she send her regrets to the Patron Saint and remain with him. If only. He stared at her mouth, wondering if he dared press her for another kiss. Erik muttered a hasty goodnight, his lanky strides, taking him rapidly down the walk.

She watched thoughtfully as he climbed into his car and left the curb, staring at the car's taillights winking red at the end of her street, before the darkness swallowed them up.

"For a highly intelligent man, doc, you're awfully stupid."

Lacking in confidence when it came to matters of the heart, he had no idea how much she loved him. _Needed_ him. Demanded that he need her.

It was high time she showed her professor.

* * *

He had driven past Christine's house numerous times, and with each pass felt worse. So she had decided against staying home, he thought morosely, for the neat little bungalow appeared to be in stasis, as all houses are while awaiting the return of lights and movement. The resumption of life. _Her_ life.

It flitted across his mind to simply find de Chagny's house himself, and investigate the proceedings. If things appeared to be spinning out of control, he could...

He came back to awareness of how crazy that would appear.

It _would_ be crazy...

...for Christine had no intention of tangling her life with de Chagny's. She had thought nothing of him for years, it seemed, so why start now? He wasn't her type, really, although he _was_ handsome in a shallow, I-don't-let-my-brains-do-the-thinking kind of way.

Which did nothing for his own insecurity concerning Christine.

Erik was fairly certain _he_ wasn't her type either.

His attempt at taking her on a date had been feeble at best. She had been very tolerant about the roller skating, and even the kiss he had insisted he give her. It had meant everything to Erik, but by the time Christine had spent an hour in de Chagny's company, she would have forgotten all about him. Despondency led Erik back to Ravenwood and to his office, where he settled behind his desk and caught up on some paperwork.

If his mind wasn't fully engaged with his work, Erik at least pretended it was, head bent, fingers massaging his temples as he worked out evaluations of each of his students to add to their final grade. "No time like the present, eh? I'm not exactly a social butterfly like some I could name, Mr. Raoul de Chagny," his voice producing a soft hiss of frustration. The sound of his door opening, forced him to look up. He was startled to find Christine staring back at him.

"I thought you left for the weekend," had slipped out of his mouth, while his inner anxiety unwound like a rubber band, releasing some of the choke-hold on his emotions. All by virtue of her presence.

"I considered it," she airily replied, walking leisurely over to his desk and perching on the edge of it.

He observed her approach with narrowed eyes, as she sashayed... _sashayed?_ across the room, her hips seeming to undulate as she walked (stalked), and he was flabbergasted when she treated him to the barest glimpse of smooth thigh as her black skirt hiked up. With a ragged sigh, he leaned back in his chair, regarding her warily. "Why...?" _Too hoarse._ He cleared his throat and tried again. "Why do I hear a _but_ in there?" _Much better._

Christine reached out and casually loosened the knot in his tie. " _But,_ I'm here instead. Want to know why?" as one deft finger slipped into the knot and gave it a gentle tug. She bestowed a few light strokes to his suddenly busy Adam's apple, before lazily sliding the tie from his collar with a slight rasp of fabric, the sound to his ears, very intimate. Sexual. He swallowed again, and watched in bemusement as she tossed it carelessly onto the desk.

"There. You look more... relaxed. We have to work on your wardrobe, doc. Get you loosened up a little and wearing much. less. clothing," she whispered in such a way, he felt a shiver of anticipation like a lick of febrile heat down his back. "Oops. Mustn't forget these little guys," and popped the first two buttons on his shirt.

She swiped her tongue over moist pink lips, his eyes helplessly tracking the movement of her mouth. He wrenched his gaze away to stare dumbly at his silk tie coiled like a black snake on the blotter. Erik's mouth hung partly open as she smoothed a hand down his chest several times, eliciting a tiny moan from him.

"Why?" he croaked, as he sat there, entirely enthralled by the small determined woman raising his blood pressure with hardly any effort at all.

"Why?" Christine leaned toward him, halting just shy of his mouth. "Because I am kidnapping you."

* * *

Erik's abduction began with tickets to the Rialto Theatre which showed vintage movies on the weekends, and that evening's offering was the film Moonstruck. Christine considered it an excellent choice due to their recent nighttime activities, so armed with a drink and popcorn, she snuggled into her abductee's side.

"Why, Christine?" he hissed.

"Why what, Erik?"

"Why did you abduct me?"

"Well, why did you abduct _me_?"

Silence greeted her, and her hand inched down to take his. "Come on. Don't be shy. It's a simple question which requires a simple answer."

"You were avoiding me, and I was tired of it," his tone one of long-suffering torment, and to Christine, completely endearing.

"That's all?"

"Yes."

"How many times?"

"At the risk of sounding repetitive... how many times what?"

"You know exactly to what I refer, don't you, Erik?"

"I would tell you the answer to that if I knew the question," he sniffed, gathering his tattered dignity around him like a well worn coat, although he had a suspicion of what she referred to. He observed her guardedly, helpless to stop the rising certainty that she was having him on, his eyes flicking from side to side, looking for the shadow of someone leaning forward to share in her little joke.

Christine watched him climb on that high horse of his that she considered nothing short of adorable.

She must be in love.

The gleam in her eye matched his as she smiled affectionately. "How many times did you drive by my house?"

"You are an evil woman."

"How many?" Christine insisted.

"Once," his voice low and soft.

"Add two more to that and I'll believe you, Erik."

"You were spying on me," he accused.

"And you were not? I was standing at the window as you drove by."

"The house was completely dark, Christine," he weakly protested, while admiring her sneakiness.

"Yes, I know," she said in triumph.

He slid his long frame down in the seat.

Her hand slipped to his knee, squeezing it gently. "Are you enjoying the movie, doc?"

"I am thoroughly enjoying your company. Will that suffice? You are the most-" nearly gasping, as her fingers stroked a little further up his thigh. His heart complied with those questing fingers, leaping madly into the steeple chase, and he rolled his eyes up at her. She was hellbent on murdering him tonight, and sighed in a mix of pleasure and longing.

She took a sip of her drink, her right hand lazily giving Erik's thigh another squeeze. " _Suffice_ , Erik?" and thought about her answer.

"For now."

* * *

"I will not dance, Christine. Perhaps another movie?"

"I'll teach you. It's easy."

"I didn't say I couldn't. I said I _wouldn't._ "

She tilted her head at him, one slender finger resting on her chin. "You forced me to skate, so the least you can do is dance with me," she wheedled. "It's a fine activity for friends to get even... _closer,_ and there's no falling down involved...

"...unless we want to."

The image of closer as she had stated it in that throaty feminine purr, reached out and grabbed him, gaining the attention of certain areas of his anatomy that had been neglected for far too long.

His libido decided for him. "I think we should give it a go," he found himself uttering like a love sick fool.

He _was_ a love sick fool.

But when he led her onto the dance floor below the painted backdrop of an intensely yellow harvest moon, he took her willing body into his arms, his feet beginning to move to a slow, sweet melody. He warmed to the music and to her heat, not minding being made a fool at all.

Christine rested her cheek against his shoulder, both arms wrapped around him as they shuffled their way round the dance floor. She began to hum along with the song the band was performing. My Eyes Adored You.

"Yes, they do," she murmured, gazing devotedly up at him.

"Do what?" he whispered, afraid to disturb this sublime moment.

"Nothing. But I have to admit, there is something to be said for evening pursuits such as these. I can get used to chasing moonbeams with you. We learned how to roller skate and rode the Ferris wheel. I can even think of a few more entertainments we might enjoy when the lights are... _way down_ _low_."

The galloping horse in his chest sailed high over the hedge, and flew to the finish line.

"Just one thing I'd like to know, professor," her hand caressing his back in a way that soothed and excited him. "Would you have abducted me if there had been no invitation from Raoul?"

He thought about his answer, finally conceding, "No, although I would have reacted to anyone trying to steal you away from me. It was only a matter of time before I worked up the courage to...to... tell you..." and he leaned down, deciding it was time to roll the dice. His faith that her heart wouldn't needlessly trample his, permitted him to whisper the secret he had kept safely hidden away for two long years.

And was rewarded for his conviction.

"I love you too," she whispered back.

Erik rubbed a cool silicone cheek against her soft one. "All this time, dear one? We have wasted all this time when we each knew how we felt?" They had stopped in a dim corner of the dance floor and his hands cupped her face between trembling palms.

His kiss was achingly tender... so very all-consuming, as he physically conveyed the love and devotion he had kept secreted away in his heart. Yet for all that, she perceived a holding back on his part- a barely held in check ardor that would sweep them both up in its intensity. She felt it reverberating in every cell of her being, and when he at last pulled back from her, she reasoned that if the world slipped off its axis at this very moment, she would nevertheless die happy in his arms.

He allowed his eyes to leisurely roam over her face, mapping every beloved inch of it. He kissed her again, his lips lingering on hers this time, before he decided they had given everyone in the club enough of a show for one evening. Erik got them moving again in another slow dance, this time Dreaming of You.

Yes, he was.

"You really are brilliant, you know," she murmured. "Your abduction was a stroke of genius, but so was that nasty rumor _I_ started." She chuckled when he stiffened in her arms.

"Nasty... _rumor_?" his voice a soft growl.

"Um...how do I put this without sounding like I hoodwinked you? Let's see. Umm...there _was_ no invitation from Raoul. I made it up and told Meg. She in turn, being the Grapevine de la Creme, told the faculty _and_ Nadir, who proceeded to spread it further around school, which took off like the wildest wildfire, and thence into the receptive ear of my music man."

"Why?" his hand tightening possessively on her slender waist.

"Well, I hate to answer your question with a question, doc, but what did you do when you heard that rumor?"

"Attempted to change your mind," he answered promptly, feeling immense satisfaction that she _had_ hoodwinked him.

"Which means we were both working toward the same goal and didn't know it!" She sighed happily. "What was your next move?"

He frowned, not following her. "Next?"

"Are you completely new to this?"

"New to what?"

"For lack of a better term...boy girl stuff."

"To give you a concise answer...yes. How can you think otherwise?" he sniffed disparagingly.

"You mean you never had relationships with other women?"

Two bright spots of hectic color bloomed on ravaged cheeks, and for this one moment in time, he was glad for the mask. _I am too old_ _and far too ugly_ _to blush._ "Relationships counted in minutes, if that is helpful to you.

"But I haven't for a very long time," he confessed.

She felt saddened by this, but she would change this sorry state of affairs, and love him within an inch of his life. She had managed to have a few relationships over the years; never lasting ones, but at least she had dipped her toes at one time or another. She had always moved on though, never feeling like she had found the right man for her- the right fit. She would shoe horn them into her life, but after a few months...after a few feeble attempts to build up a rapport, she hadn't minded at all when one or the other of them broke it off. Until now. Erik was the one man who didn't have to wedge himself into her life- his fit was smooth and seamless.

He would be a dry husk of a man by the time she was through with him.

And that was only their first time.

After that, they would take things nice and easy.

Her fingers slid through the short hairs at his nape and Christine smiled when he shivered in reaction.

"I went out with Raoul to make you jealous," she confessed.

"It worked," he admitted.

"I know," she said archly.

"It would seem, my darling that we are both guilty of criminal behavior, and in light of our successful attempts at kidnapping, I say we put ourselves on house arrest.

"Together."

"I concur," she responded, feeling breathless and deeply in love. She raised her fingers to his masked cheek and kissed his chin. "Oh, I certainly do." Christine bit her lip. "Although, you should know, I still intend to visit Europe someday."

"Well then, may I join you? Oh, say... next month for two weeks?" holding his breath for her answer.

"Finally. An offer from you I simply cannot refuse!" and the tremulous smile she gave Erik, had him wishing he'd made the offer a lot sooner. "Where do we start?"

Erik buried his masked face in Christine's hair, his atypical nose busily cataloging her floral scent, wishing he could lay his naked cheek against hers. It would seem now, he could never get close enough. "How does two weeks in Vienna suit you?"

He had rendered her speechless.

The usually demure professor's arms wound tightly around his neck, as she fairly vibrated with suppressed excitement, which made Erik exceedingly glad they were no longer on skates. It could have been an unmitigated disaster.

He decided then and there to surprise her more often.

"I once did a thesis in grad school on Neo-Renaissance style architecture and its influence on musical theatre," she told him. "I would love to visit the opera house since it's a very good example of that. What do you say, doc? I can get some travel brochures and we can read up on the city."

"That won't be necessary," he murmured, lovingly combing thin fingers through her hair. "If you will allow me to be your guide, we can visit anywhere you care to go. As you say, the opera would be an excellent place to start. And I will take you to the Prater, Christine. You will love the Wiener Riesenrad." At her look of bemusement, his lips twisted into an affectionate smile, the expression sitting oddly on his face. Wide smiles were not Erik's forte. "Ferris wheel, and after the other night, a ride of which I am particularly fond."

"As long as I'm with you, I don't care what we do. But how about some strudel?" she teased.

"Consider it done."

"And schnitzel."

He laughed, the deep resonating quality of it startling the couples around them. Especially the women. "That, as well. As much as you would like. May I also recommend the spatzle?"

They had been swaying dream-like to another slow number, but the tempo had changed and those around them were now jiving to hip-hop. Neither one of the strange couple gave it any mind, as they remained locked in each others' arms, the gaunt man looming over the woman, their bodies oddly attuned as they held each other close, barely moving their feet.

"How often have you been to Vienna?"

"Many times. When you leave to visit with your parents, I travel to Austria for the week and visit with the very same man who gave me my life back. Francis was born and raised in Vienna, and returned there a number of years ago. Permanently. But that isn't the only reason I'll be visiting Austria this year. I'm to be guest conductor at the Vienna State Opera House."

"Erik, that's wonderful! But would you have shared this with me if I hadn't _coerced_ you into coming with me tonight?"

He stumbled a bit, caught off balance by her question, and Christine stifled a laugh. "Why do you think I abducted you first? I had to act fast before it was de Chagny making you an offer you couldn't refuse."

"It was yours I wanted all along," she told him fiercely. "Only yours."

"How did I get so lucky?" he whispered, his thin lips tracing a path down her cheek.

"Luck has nothing to do with it," Christine answered tartly. "You're simply a worthy man. And a talented one. When did the opera house approach you?"

"A few months ago. I once studied under the opera's new music director, and since we've kept in touch over the years, he thought of me when they decided to include some mixed bill evenings. He proffered the invitation. Which means I will have to spend a number of my days in rehearsal with the orchestra, but there will be time for us after the performances conclude."

"I actually get to see you in harness _and_ have you as my tour guide to Vienna after dark. How can I say no?"

"You can't because I won't let you," he replied emphatically, and Christine heard the ring of truth in his voice. _More kidnapping?_

"What are you and the orchestra performing?"

"A Bartok Divertimento for Strings, followed by Mozart Piano Concerto No. 12. After intermission...Schumann Symphony No. 2."

"It will be fascinating and even more so because I get to kiss the conductor! _And_ meet the man who helped to put you there. Francis," she said softly. "I want to thank him."

"You will like him, Christine, And he, you."

"Why didn't you ever mention any of this before?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Why don't you ever talk about your visits home?"

"That's not exactly the same thing. I love my parents dearly, but it's not an honor to go home!" she said with a chuckle. "You however, are going to conduct music in a world class setting and I'll be there when you do."

"Nothing would please me more," he whispered, wanting only to leave now and have her all to himself.

"There's so much I still don't know about you," she murmured. "We have a lot of catching up to do, don't we?"

"Yes. Your parents... I'm not exactly what most mothers and fathers want for their daughters, am I? But I _will_ convince them of how I feel about you. H-How very much I love you and have forever, it seems."

"I love you too, and isn't that all that really matters? They will accept you. They'll have to," and it was said with such utter finality, he didn't doubt for one moment that she meant it.

But he could only nod, hoping she was in the right of it instead of being naively optimistic. For now though, he had other things on his mind. He raised a hand to his forehead. "You know... I think I might be experiencing a bit of a relapse." He coughed experimentally and nodded. "Yes. Just as I thought. I'm afraid I'll need someone to take care of me."

She stroked a hand down his neck, hearing the slight hesitancy in Erik's voice, and said consideringly, "You do feel a little flushed. I'll have to keep an eye on you overnight."

"Christine?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Let's go home."

"Mine or yours?"

His kiss was tender. "Ours."

* * *

 _Fini_


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